And a'ter twelve o'clock had come I felt a kinder faggin', And laid myself un'neath a plum To let my dinner settle sum, When 'long come Jones's waggin,And Jones was settin' in it, SO: [31]
A-readin' of a paper.
His mules was goin' powerful slow, Fur he had tied the lines onto The staple of the scraper.
The mules they stopped about a rod From me, and went to feedin'
'Longside the road, upon the sod, But Jones (which he had tuck a tod)Not knowin', kept a-readin'.
And presently says he: "Hit's true; [41]
That Clisby's head is level.
Thar's one thing farmers all must do, To keep themselves from goin' tew Bankruptcy and the devil!
"More corn! more corn! MUST plant less ground, And MUSTN'T eat what's boughten!
Next year they'll do it: reasonin's sound:
(And, cotton will fetch 'bout a dollar a pound), THARFORE, I'LL plant ALL cotton!"____
Macon, Ga., 1870.
Notes: Jones's Private Argyment The themes of this poem, the relative claims of corn and cotton upon the attention of the farmer and the disastrous results of speculation, are treated indirectly in `Thar's More in the Man Than Thar Is in the Land', and directly and with consummate art in `Corn'.
1."That air same Jones" appears in `Thar's More', etc., written in 1869, in which we are told:
"And he lived pretty much by gittin' of loans, And his mules was nuthin' but skin and bones, And his hogs was flat as his corn-bread pones, And he had 'bout a thousand acres o' land."He sells his farm to Brown at a dollar and fifty cents an acre and goes to Texas.Brown improves the farm, and, after five years, is sitting down to a big dinner when Jones is discovered standing out by the fence, without wagon or mules, "fur he had left Texas afoot and cum to Georgy to see if he couldn't git some employment."Brown invites Jones in to dinner, but cannot refrain from the inference-drawing that names the poem.-- "Which lived in Jones,""which Jones is a county of red hills and stones" (`Thar's More', etc.)in central Georgia.
13.Readers of `David Copperfield' will recall Micawber's frequent use of `I-O-U-'s'.
47."Clisby's head" refers to Mr.Joseph Clisby, then editor of the Macon (Ga.) `Telegraph and Messenger', who had written editorials favoring the planting of more corn.
CornTo-day the woods are trembling through and through [1]
With shimmering forms, that flash before my view, Then melt in green as dawn-stars melt in blue.
The leaves that wave against my cheek caress Like women's hands; the embracing boughs express A subtlety of mighty tenderness;The copse-depths into little noises start, That sound anon like beatings of a heart, Anon like talk 'twixt lips not far apart.
The beech dreams balm, as a dreamer hums a song;Through that vague wafture, expirations strong [11]
Throb from young hickories breathing deep and long With stress and urgence bold of prisoned spring And ecstasy of burgeoning.
Now, since the dew-plashed road of morn is dry, Forth venture odors of more quality And heavenlier giving.Like Jove's locks awry, Long muscadines Rich-wreathe the spacious foreheads of great pines, And breathe ambrosial passion from their vines.
I pray with mosses, ferns, and flowers shy [21]
That hide like gentle nuns from human eye To lift adoring perfumes to the sky.
I hear faint bridal-sighs of brown and green Dying to silent hints of kisses keen As far lights fringe into a pleasant sheen.
I start at fragmentary whispers, blown From undertalks of leafy souls unknown, Vague purports sweet, of inarticulate tone.
Dreaming of gods, men, nuns, and brides, between Old companies of oaks that inward lean [31]
To join their radiant amplitudes of green I slowly move, with ranging looks that pass Up from the matted miracles of grass Into yon veined complex of space Where sky and leafage interlace So close, the heaven of blue is seen Inwoven with a heaven of green.
I wander to the zigzag-cornered fence Where sassafras, intrenched in brambles dense, Contests with stolid vehemence [41]
The march of culture, setting limb and thorn As pikes against the army of the corn.
There, while I pause, my fieldward-faring eyes Take harvests, where the stately corn-ranks rise, Of inward dignities And large benignities and insights wise, Graces and modest majesties.
Thus, without theft, I reap another's field;Thus, without tilth, I house a wondrous yield, And heap my heart with quintuple crops concealed.[51]
Look, out of line one tall corn-captain stands Advanced beyond the foremost of his bands, And waves his blades upon the very edge And hottest thicket of the battling hedge.
Thou lustrous stalk, that ne'er mayst walk nor talk, Still shalt thou type the poet-soul sublime That leads the vanward of his timid time And sings up cowards with commanding rhyme --Soul calm, like thee, yet fain, like thee, to grow By double increment, above, below; [61]
Soul homely, as thou art, yet rich in grace like thee, Teaching the yeomen selfless chivalry That moves in gentle curves of courtesy;Soul filled like thy long veins with sweetness tense, By every godlike sense Transmuted from the four wild elements.
Drawn to high plans, Thou lift'st more stature than a mortal man's, Yet ever piercest downward in the mould And keepest hold[71]
Upon the reverend and steadfast earth That gave thee birth;Yea, standest smiling in thy future grave, Serene and brave, With unremitting breath Inhaling life from death, Thine epitaph writ fair in fruitage eloquent, Thyself thy monument.
As poets should, Thou hast built up thy hardihood[81]
With universal food, Drawn in select proportion fair From honest mould and vagabond air;From darkness of the dreadful night, And joyful light;From antique ashes, whose departed flame In thee has finer life and longer fame;From wounds and balms, From storms and calms, From potsherds and dry bones[91]
And ruin-stones.
Into thy vigorous substance thou hast wrought Whate'er the hand of Circumstance hath brought;Yea, into cool solacing green hast spun White radiance hot from out the sun.
